The Boy From Brooklyn
by XxT3ARS-OF-BLOODxX
Summary: Racetrack Higgins has had a dark past, and finally found a safe home with the Manhattan newsies after escaping a life he swore he'd never return to. But after they strike against Pulitzer, it slowly comes back to haunt him, and along the way, he begins to do the most dangerous thing he can imagine: fall in love.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

 **A/N Hi, Im not Everest. Wait, no that introduction sucks. Makes it sound like I'm a hacker. Hi, I didn't hack Everest. Promise. My name is Rose Wyatt. You probably recognize my name from Everest's author's notes. I'm her editor (and best friend, but that's besides the point). Anyways, for a while (like, since TFFY was first uploaded back in May) Everest has been urging me to write my own fic and publish it on the XXT3ARS-OF-BLOODXX account. For a while, I made excuses, claiming I didn't have time. I didn't really want to. But then summer rolled around and eventually I got bored. And… well I started writing this fic. In secret. But Everest was randomly going around my Google Drive trying to find a Mean Girls bootleg (which I sent her, but she claimed she didn't get it and was trying to send it herself) and found the document I was writing this untitled Sprace fic on. And for the past week she's been begging me nonstop to post it. So… here it is. I'm still not entirely sure on what the plot will entirely be (I've really just been editing and re-editing the first two chapters for a while, on top of editing Everest's stories) but it's going to be a Sprace fic, and it takes place during and after the strike, starting roughly right before Watch What Happens Reprise. So yeah. Here goes.**

It's a long walk from Manhattan to Brooklyn.

Most people don't realize that. You don't really realize that until you've lived in New York. And most rich folk don't realize that either, since they're always taking carriages and trolleys and such to get places. It's almost like they're allergic to walking.

But when you've lived on the streets of New York, you know how long a walk it is. Three. Freaking. Hours. Three hours just to go somewhere you don't want to go to. Shouldn't go to. Where you definitely won't be welcome. I'm not even sure why I agreed to this. I could have gone to any other burough of New York. Flushing, Queens, Richmond, the Bronx, but no. I got stuck with Brooklyn.

" _Race." Davey had told me. "Look at Wiesel"_

 _I looked. At first, it just looked like the same bitter old man who sold us papes everyday. The same man who helped attack us yesterday, to beat us bloody, to arrest Crutchie. I couldn't see any difference Davey was pointing out, besides the injuries he bore. Good. I saw he had a bruise on his cheek, right where I had kicked him, before the Delancies had pulled me away, knocked me to the ground, and kept beating me until they were called over to help arrest Crutchie._

 _But besides the injuries, Wiesel looked no different._

" _What are you talking about?" I asked, squinting my eyes._

" _His eyes, Race. His facial expression! Don't you see it?"_

 _And it clicked. I saw. He was terrified. Legitimately afraid we were going to pull something again._

 _And before I could respond, Davey threw down his papes and walked away to tell the others what he had just told me. I quickly followed suit._

I was craving a cigar in the worst way. Albert keeps stealing mine, and I just ran out yesterday. We kept passing people and stores with them. It would be so easy to steal a box of Coronas, but I knew I couldn't. We had to keep moving.

 _We had all gathered up Jacobi's Deli, battered in beaten, and tired, thinking of what to do. And then Katherine came in with a game changer. Front page of the New York Sun. We were famous, and the strike was far from over. It couldn't be over. Not for the new Kings of New York._

I could tell I wasn't the only one itching to steal something. Jojo was trudging along beside me, but I've known him long enough to know that he was starving from the way he fidgeted and looked at every restaurant and store and fruit stand we passed. And seeing this made me realize how hungry I was too. But that was just life on the streets. We were used to it. But still… it would be so easy just to… no. We had to keep moving.

 _Davey decided who went where. I tuned him out a bit, but eventually he had called every borough except for one._

Oh god, no, not that one. _I thought, right as Davey called out._

" _Race, Jojo, you guys take Brooklyn."_

 _Jojo tried to protest, but Davey cut him off. "Katherine, Les, and I will go find Jack. I have a feeling he's hiding out at Medda's, so we can kill two birds with one stone and ask if we can use the theatre for the rally. Now go! Bring everyone back to the theatre at 10 tonight!"_

"How far are we?" Jojo whined.

I just shrugged, I had been to Brooklyn once before, but it was years ago, and it wasn't of my own free will. I had no idea how close or far we were to Brooklyn.

It felt like we were walking forever. Hours. Days maybe. And we had the most important job. All the others refused to back us unless Brooklyn was backing us. So, all the other guys were going to lie and say they would be there. But if Brooklyn didn't show? Then they would definitely turn us, and we wouldn't have a chance.

"Race! Look!" Jojo suddenly shouted. He bolted across the street. I lost sight of him and immediately started running after him. The dang kid was going to get himself hit by a carriage. I darted between people and horses and carriages and who knows what else. I could hear Jojo shouting my name excitedly but couldn't tell where it was coming from. The sounds of the ever-busy Manhattan streets drowned him out. I stood and looked around, hoping for a fire escape I could climb to get a better view. I was so focused on finding a high place that I almost missed the trolley hurtling towards me. I started to run away, but someone grabbed me by the arm and yanked me onto the trolley.

 _Oh god._ I thought. _It's probably Snyder or Wiesel or the Delancies. Someone to beat me bloody and lock me up in The Refuge, just like they did to Crutchie_.

But when I looked to see who was crazy enough to drag me onto a trolley hurtling down the street at 35 miles an hour, I saw none other than Jojo's smiling face.

I groaned and stood up. "You coulda gotten the both of us killed, ya know that, right?"

"But I didn't." he replied smugly.

I rolled my eyes and found two seats next to each other, far in the back where no one was likely to realize we snuck on. I sat down. "Do you know if this even goes to Brooklyn? It could be takin' us to Pennsylvania for God's sake."

Jojo shrugged. "Who knows. We just gotta keep an eye on what's outside I guess."

So we do. And though we still ain't sure, it looks like we're moving towards the general direction of Brooklyn.

After about 10 minutes, a fat man in a fancy suit that just screamed "I ain't ever worked a day in my life and I'm still richer than you!" sat down next to me and Jojo. He took one look at us and got up, his face displaying disgust, and sat in front of us instead, as if he was allergic to dirty, broke newsies. We pretended not to notice. But I didn't mind his rudeness. Not in the face of his generosity.

After all, he hadn't noticed at all when I silently pulled the small box of cigars from his pocket.

 **A/N Welp, that's it for the first chapter! Thank you all so much for reading, please review and give me ideas and pointers if you can, Everest's "go with the flow" and "adverbs make everything more interesting" advice can only take me so far.**

 **Rose out.**

 ***Mic drop***

 **Wait actually no that was stupid don't publish that part of the author's notes Ev.**


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

 **A/N Well, hi. I'm back with this fic, Everest has her Mean Girls bootleg, and I still have no idea what to do for a central plot. I'm going through serious writer's block. Please review with any ideas you have, I really freaking need it.**

 **I don't really know what else to write in these, but I've seen other authors do disclaimers? So I'll try that, I guess?**

 **I don't own Newsies, if I did it sure as heck would still be running. I also don't own this account, but that's besides the point.**

It's a long walk to Brooklyn, but not so long a trolley ride.

I must have dozed off at some point, I don't know when, but next thing I knew, Jojo was shaking me awake.

"Race? Race, get up, we're here. We gotta get off."

Before I could actually process what he was saying, we were at the very back again, and Jojo was rearing to jump.

"Why can't we just get off when it stops like normal people?" I groaned, still half asleep.

He flashed a smile at me. "What's the fun in that? Besides, they haven't made any stops in the past 20 minutes. It's now or never."

And then he jumped off a trolley moving at 40 miles per hour.

 _This kid is going to get us both killed, I swear._ I thought as I followed suit.

We both landed in a pile of flour sacks. Anything that hadn't hurt before from the fight yesterday was definitely hurting now. I saw Jojo gingerly cradling his left wrist which had been broken yesterday. He probably aggravated it more.

The man selling the flour yelled at us, and we scrambled away, running into an alley and sitting down on a fire escape so we could get our bearings.

"Now what?" Jojo asked, still clutching his wrist.

"Now we find the Brooklyn newsies." I replied, looking out at the streets. "But first, I dunno about you, but I'm starving."

…

There's a lot of fruit stands in Brooklyn. More people, I guess, more mouths to feed. Fruit stands are like goldmines for a broke kid living on the streets. And if there's a social category Jojo and I fall under, it's definitely "broke street kids".

We didn't plan or anything. It's pretty easy to just take an apple or two without being spotted. So, imagine our surprise when the fruit vendor stood up and started yelling at us.

In times like these, your flight or fight instinct kicks in. And the instinct hitting us at that moment was sure as heck not fight.

The fruit vendor started chasing us as we darted throughout the streets. And right when I had thought we'd evaded him, I looked behind me to see a cop, who'd taken the vendor's place.

This guy was _huge_. He looked a bit like Warden Snyder, if Snyder was 150 pounds of pure muscle and rage. He was right on our heels shouting at us. I grabbed Jojo and turned a corner.

He turned with us.

We turned another corner.

So did he.

We sped up.

So did he.

We climbed up on a fire escape.

He followed us up there.

And so it went for what felt like forever. But we kept running. Our lungs on fire, our legs hurting, exhausted.

And right when he was about to catch us, someone grabbed us both by the collar and yanked us into an alley.

 **A/N Well, that's it for this chapter. Please give me feedback and ideas. I have an idea for the next chapter, and many future chapters, but beyond that I need more major plot points. So, please help!**

 **Also, thanks so much for everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed! The fact that people genuinely like my work is mind blowing to me.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

 **A/N Hey. So I was rereading TFFY and Hunted because I was bored** **and procrastinating writing another chapter of this because I don't have good ideas** **and I would like to apologise for letting so many typos slip through. I don't usually have time to hardcore edit every single word of Everest's fics since Im busy with school stuff, writing this, writing a couple independent stories I hope to have published some day, and taking care of my siblings (I have five siblings, and I'm the oldest, although my adopted sister Jamie is only two months younger than I am.) So, I'm really sorry for all the typos and grammatical errors that slipped through. Everest has only been living in the US for about a year and a half, so her English still isn't the best (she grew up in a reeeeeeeally French part of Canada) but she is improving. I'm not sorry about that time I changed "the Hunger Games" in Hunted into "The Tony Awards of Death" though. That was hilarious, and Everest knows it (even though she yelled at me and Jamie in the group chat for like an hour, totally worth it though).**

 **I don't own Newsies, or it would have been revived by now and hopefully won the Tony for Best Revival of a Musical (although Once On This Island definitely deserved the win this year, it's such a good show)**

 **Also thanks to my sister for drawing the cover.**

Our savior (or maybe enemy? I wasn't actually sure yet) dragged us deeper into the alley and quickly shoved us behind a dumpster. He walked out before I could get a good look at his face. Neither me nor Jojo dared to move, knowing that the cop was still out there.

Suddenly, our savior spoke. "Problem, officer?" he asked. His voice was dripping with a strong Brooklyn accent, and he sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it…

I didn't have to wonder long, as the cop replied "Chasing some thieves, Conlon. None of your concern. Unless it was one of yours."

Conlon? As in Spot Conlon? As in the very guy we were going to see? As in the most feared and most terrifying newsie in all of New York, maybe even the world? I wasn't sure if we had gotten lucky, or in even worse trouble.

I peaked out from behind the dumpster. Not enough to be seen, but just enough to be able to see. Spot had his back facing us, and he was standing in a casual, yet defensive-looking manner.

He was smaller than I remembered, only four inches or so above five feet. He seemed about the same size as he was the last time I saw him, and that was five years ago. But one thing that was different was that he was definitely bulkier. He may be only 5'4", but he was five feet and four inches of pure muscle. I was both in awe of him and utterly terrified of him.

"You accusing my boys of somethin', Warren?" Spot said, crossing his arms.

"I'm not accusing them of anything. Unless you know something I don't."

"My boys wouldn't do anything like that, Warren. We may be street rats, but we ain't heathens."

"Can you be sure of that?"

"Even if I ain't, I sure as heck ain't gonna tell you." Spot replied with a scowl. "Keep running your mouth and spewing out accusations like that. I dare you. My boys ain't done nothing."

Warren narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to Spot, I quickly hid myself fully behind the dumpster again, just in case he had a better view now. I glanced at Jojo. He was pale as the freshly fallen snow, and was shaking like one of those little Chihuahua dogs on coffee.

"May I remind you, Mr. Conlon, that you are still just as likely to get arrested as any other kid in this city. You aren't in the best position to be threatening me right now, are you. You've gotten quite defensive now, haven't you? So tell me, which of your newsboy brats did it, and where are you hiding them?"

Spot got closer to Warren, getting up in his face somehow, despite being a foot shorter. "I don't know who you're looking for, but get this through your thick skull. It ain't one of mine." he snarled, eyes blazing with fury.

Warren seemed to have been getting angrier and angrier, and suddenly shoved Spot to the ground.

Spot, in return, furiously tripped Warren, and in what seemed to be one fluid motion, picked himself up, ran behind the dumpster, grabbed me and Jojo by the arms, and pulled us running out of the alley while Warren followed, hot on our heels.

We darted throughout the streets of Brooklyn, weaving through carriages and people. Having Spot lead us was definitely an advantage, as he knew the turf. Soon, we were able to evade Warren. Spot pulled us into a crowded cafe, and went towards the back where no one would care to look for us.

Jojo and I bent over, exhausted and panting from all the running. Spot, not seeming to care, turned to us, the flame of fury still burning fiercely in his eyes.

"Now," he said "You two have five minutes to explain who you are and what the heck you think you're doin' here."

 **A/N So that's it for this chapter. I'm not really going to type much more for this note since my last one was as long as a whole Forgotten First Years chapter, sorry. Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

 **A/N Uuuuuuugh I have legit no ideas right now. Honestly this is probably going to be the worst chapter I've ever written in my life. I'm going through some** _ **serious**_ **writer's block right now. Like, you know how you have an idea for a thing but you have to write like one or two chapters to get to the thing but you aren't sure how to get to the thing without sounding like the worst fanfic author since Tara Gilesbie? Yeah, so that's what I'm going through right now. Sorry that you have to read this painfully written chapter. It'll get better in later chapters, promise!**

It all came out tumbling. The strike, the rally, getting chased, just… everything.

And before we were even finished, Spot was already shaking his head. "No." he said.

"Excuse me, what? We wasn't even-" Jojo started before Spot cut him off again.

"No. For about a million reasons."

"And why's that?" I said, angry, and immediately regretting my tone. After all, I was talking to _the_ Spot Conlon. But still. I wasn't taking no for an answer.

He glared at me "Brooklyn ain't got the time, money or patience to deal with Manhattan problems right now. Yeah, sure, we was affected by the price change too, but instead of whining about it we're just trying to get by."

"So you're just gonna stand there and let Pulitzer walk all over youse?" I retorted.

He took a step closer to me, and I instinctively took one back. "Ain't nobody walks over me, Higgins, you got that? And they ain't walking all over Brooklyn. But they sure as heck seem to be walking all over Manhattan. It's like I said to Jack Kelly and those new kids." he said, his stare so fierce I thought I might spontaneously combust. "We ain't helping nobody unless we see 'em standing their ground. Brooklyn ain't got time to aid nobody who fold at the first sign of trouble."

"We ain't folding!" Jojo piped up angrily.

Spot gave him a look that I can only describe as restraint. "Oh really? Cause it don't seem like it. You're leader's gone missing, abandoned you at the first fight, youse are all banged up and bruised, one of youse is in jail, and youse were all selling just like usual, like a scared little bunch of pushover babies."

My fury was boiling at this point, and I was running my mouth without thinking. "So? At least we're still trying! Yeah, it hasn't exactly been goin' as planned, but no one expected it to! You say we's the ones folding? Looks to me like youse the one folding! You say you won't help, but you won't say why! You just give pathetic, vague excuses! Pathetic excuses, from a pathetic newsie." I spat, my words feeling like a crisp, harsh, blazing fire on my tongue. But the fire began to burn as Spot slammed me to the wall, and I realized I had gone too far.

And yet, I was still able to meet his eyes, which were boiling and overflowing with pure, unadulterated loathing.

Seething with hatred and clasping his hand across my throat, threatening to choke me, he snarled "What. Did. You. Just. Call. Me?"

I have no clue where this wave of bravery had come from, but I looked him dead in the eyes and rasped out "Pathetic. Purely pathetic."

He would have killed me then and there if Jojo hadn't shoved his way in between us. At this point, Spot looked ready to punch his lights out, so I quickly stepped defensively in front of Jojo to shield him.

"You ain't given us a valid reason not to join. If your only reason is that you don't trust us to stick to the cause, then you really are pathetic. Cause we's going through with this, and we ain't ever gonna fold until Pulitzer restores the original price. I ain't leavin' here until you either join, or give a valid reason why you can't come."

Spot stared at me, the hatred still in his eyes. None of us said anything for a moment, until he finally turned around and addressed us firmly without looking at us. "You want a reason? Follow me."

 **A/N Sorry for the short chapter! I was going to make it longer but I have the worst writer's block right now so that's all for this chapter. I'm just going to put why I had planned for this chapter in the next chapter. We're so close yet so far from the good stuff, it's a pain just to write the stuff leading up to it cri. So yeah, the next chapter is going to be really short (but pretty important) and the one after it will probably be really boring, but after that we'll be at Brooklyn's Here so then the story should pick up again. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 **A/N Heyyyy whattup I'm Rose, I'm sixteen, and I never fricking learned to write fanfiction. I know I said this will be short, but it actually ended up being really long. And the next one will be slightly less boring than I had said. Enjoy this chapter.** **I don't own Newsies, nor do I own any of the bootlegs of it I may or may not possess (hmu in the pms if any of y'all got a Papermill cast bootleg or a bootleg of Ben Cook as Crutchie, I got a Bandstand OBC, ITH OBC, Newsies closing night, and Mean Girls OBC if any of y'all wanna trade)** He led us through the streets of Brooklyn, weaving through fruit stands, carriages, tall buildings, and people, and turning at the sight of any policemen. It wasn't long before we reached a large run down, boarded up, abandoned building. Spot crouched down to the ground and crawled under a small tunnel broken through a boarded up doorway. Jojo and I reluctantly followed. It was dark without the windows, and the dust was intolerable. Finally, we were able to stand up, and walked towards a fair light at the end of what I assumed was a long hallway. "Spot, that you?" A high voice dripping with a Brooklyn accent called out as we got closer. "Yea, Freckles, it's me." Spot replied. A young girl, looking to be around 12 or 13, with fiery red hair and a face peppered with an abundance of freckles, stood out in the end of the tunnel. She squinted at us. "Who that?" "No one special. I'll explain in a minute." Spot said, leading us past her and into a massive room. I took in my surroundings. All around us was a room that felt cramped, filled with 30 or so kids running around. Piles of pretty much anything they could get their hands on, like broken bricks, scrap wood and metal, bags of grains and of sand, old newspapers, anything really, filled the room in rows. I realized these were makeshift beds. Above our heads, massive stretches of scrap fabrics stitched together carelessly were spread across the walls just below the ceiling, acting as hammocks of some sort. What windows had been in there remained boarded up, with beds and hammocks up against them. All light came from a few candles placed strategically around the room, covered by a few dirty, broken mason jars. The room smelled bad, and the floors groaned beneath our feet, as if it was threatening to collapse underneath us with every step. "Welcome to the Brooklyn Newsboy Lodging House. Or at least, the closest thing we have to one." Spot said, taking a step forward. We were shocked silent, still looking around at the cramped little shelter. "I'm feelin' kinda claustrophobic." Jojo whispered to me nervously. "You're feelin' what now?" I replied, still looking at the strange little room. "Claw-stroh-fo-bic. It's a word Davey taught me. It means freaked out by small spaces or whatever." If that was the meaning, then I definitely was feeling claustrophobic. The small, windowless space was so different from the fire escapes and rooftops we were used to in Manhattan. I'd never think I would be feeling lucky to be sleeping on the streets, but here I am, glad I'm not living in some old abandoned building. "So, fresh meat, eh?" the girl called Freckles asked excitedly. The other kids in the room stopped running and shouting for a minute to stare at us, then picked up an ominous chant of "Fresh meat! Fresh meat!" _Geez, are these newsies or cult members?_ I thought to myself. Spot shook his head. "Nah, they's already newsies. From Manhattan. Jack Kelly's boys." The Brooklyn newsies all sighed and went back to whatever it was that they were doing before. Freckles squinted at us again. "Then why is they here?" Spot sighed. "That strike or whateva. We still ain't doin' it." "But Spot-" she protested. "We ain't! We can't! You know this!" he shouted angrily. She shrunk away. "Even your own want to join the strike." Jojo pointed out. "So why don't you?" He glared at us. "Well, first of all, look how we's been livin'. Rats live better than us. We's just been tryin' to get along and survive this miserable city. We ain't got time to complain. Just to work." "So? Youse would have a lot more time if you didn't need to work so hard to sell." I said. He turned away and started up the stairs. "Come here." As we followed him up, he explained "That ain't the only floor. There's about 83 of us in all. We keep the youngest on the top, the middle kids, who are ages 10-15 in the middle, and anyone older than that at the bottom. And the little guys, well, they ain't doing too good." We reached the top and entered a foul smelling room. It felt more like a sick bay than a home. I wrinkled my nose and took in the sight of pale, weak looking, small children lying in rows amount the floor, on top of flour sacks and feathers, covered in threadbare blankets and scrap fabrics. Puddles of blood, vomit, urine, fecal matter, and who knows what else were scattered across the floor, making the place smell worse than a sewer. I was stunned silent, watching as Spot walked around, accounting for each one. One of the ones who looked a bit stronger than the others, a little boy around 8 or 9 with hair dark and dirty, ran up to us and looked at Spot with a frantic gaze. "Spot? Clouds ain't movin'!" Spot quickly moved to the kid next to the boy who had spoken and kneeled down. He had pale blonde hair dirtied with soot that made it look a bit darker at parts, and skin paler than a fluffy white cloud on a sunny day. Spot nudged him, poking his face, and hopelessly searching for a pulse. "Come on, Clouds, open your eyes!" he said, unnaturally gentle. The kid opened his eyes weakly. I could see that they were also very cloudy, suggesting he was blind as a bat. "Spot?" he rasped, shivering. "I'm here kid, don't worry." Spot picked him up and brought him over to the far side of the massive "bed" and placed him down, far enough to get cooled off but close enough to the others to keep warm enough. The kid tried to smile, but it was small and pained. Spot returned an almost equally pained smile as he set the kid down. Jojo leaned over and whispered to me. "I'm feelin' real sonder here." "The heck does that mean?" "Another Davey word. It's like, realizin' that other people have lives just as complex as yer own." he explained matter-of-factly. I rolled my eyes. "Wow, Davey's just teachin' you all sorts of useful words, ain't he?" Jojo didn't catch my sarcasm, and nodded his head enthusiastically. "Yea! You should've heard the one he told Elmer! Supercali-" I cut him off. "Yeah, how 'bout we talk about Mr. Human Dictionary _after_ we get Brooklyn to go to the rally?" Before he could reply, Spot approached us. "Still ain't a valid reason, Higgins?" "Kinda. What's wrong with them anyways? "Ain't entirely sure. All we know is that they're sick and we can't afford medical help. And they's been dropping fast. Before this epidemic hit a month ago, we had 50 of these guys. Now we's down to 27. Some of 'em, they get better, and we move 'em downstairs to the hammocks. Most 'em though, well, they ain't so lucky. And so young, too." he glanced at the blind kid. "It'll be a miracle if Clouds even survives the next few hours." "And you can't do anything to help 'em?" Jojo asked quietly. Spot shrugged. "Ain't really anything we can do but make sure they is comfortable when they go. Give 'em proper burials. Pray they get through it." I was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Then I spoke up, with yet another idea. "You ain't helping them if youse just working harder than youse needs to be." He looked up at me. "Whaddya mean?" I gestured at all the sick, dying newsies. "Ya can't really take care of them if yer working harder and longer than usual. And with the new price, it's even harder to afford help. Even just small things, like extra food and blankets." He narrowed his eyes at me. "So you're saying that you think joining this hopeless strike is going to magically cure 'em all? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." "But it's true. It's cheaper and less work to pay 50 cents per hundred papes than 60 for a hundred. You'd make more money. Money you could use to help them get better, or at least to help them feel comfortable when they die." Spot looked like was almost considering it, but shook his head. "No, Higgins, it-" He was interrupted by a shrill, agonized scream from outside. **A/N Thanks for reading, I guess.**


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

 **A/N Woot! Daily upload! Don't get used to it XD.**

 **Anyways, so Everest's sister may or may not be writing a WarriorsXHamilton fic which should be… interesting, to say that least. I hope Ev doesn't ask me to edit though, cause y'all know how Everest's English isn't the best? Yeah, her sister's English is just as bad, if not worse. I'll edit if they ask me though.**

 **I don't own Newsies, nor a way to get past this pesky writer's block.**

We raced downstairs and through the tunnel as the shrieking continued. Many of the Brooklyn newsies followed.

We watched as three policeman across the street repeatedly beat a young boy around 13. He was covered in blood, clutching his newspapers and a tomato. He had a strange scar across his forehead, looking almost like the stripe of a tabby cat.

"Oh god, they got Stripe." Freckles breathed.

"Third one this week." whispered a girl close to my age with fiery red hair and a smooth voice with an accent sounding more Italian than Brooklynian.

"Nah, Tunes, that's fourth. They got Polka Dot yesterday too, rememba?" a boy with a eyepatch rasped in his husky, deep, coarse voice.

"Three, four, too many anyways." Spot said. We all headed back inside as the boy was dragged away in handcuffs.

"Stripe didn't deserve that!" Freckles shouted as soon as we were in the privacy of the Lodging House. "Stripes ain't ever done nothin' wrong! Not never!"

"Ain't no one deserves that, Freckles, but it still happens anyways." the boy with the eyepatch and rough voice said.

"Well, it ain't fair, York! Ain't nobody deserve to go to the Reform." Freckles retorted angrily.

"What's that?" Jojo whispered to me.

"The Reform? It's the Eastern Brooklyn Reformatory Home for Boys. It's a juvenile jail. Basically their version of The Refuge." I explained with a shudder. I had been there once before, and it was probably the second worst experience in my life.

Jojo turned back to look at the street, shaken by the sight. "That's… that's what the Manhattan bulls did to Crutchie last night." he said aloud. "I mean, it was kinda worse for Crutchie… he was bloodier, and they beat him with his own crutch. An' they dragged him off by his good leg and practically broke it in the process. If he hadn't been screamin', I'da thought him dead."

Spot cringed at the gruesome and unfortunately accurate image. "Yep. And though that might be a rare beatin' for youse in Manhattan, that's just every day here in Brooklyn. Gettin' arrested for no reason, and nearly dyin' in the process. No one trusts a gutter rat."

We all stood in silence a bit, before the others began to return to what they had being doing before the brutal arrest. Only Spot, Jojo, and I remained near the tunnel, not speaking nor moving.

I had no idea what to do. In fact, giving up looked like the favorable option here.

 _Jeez, Race, useless much?_ I thought bitterly. _You ain't leavin' here without Brooklyn behind you. You can't. Think like a leader. What would Jack do?_

Then, like a fist in my face, inspiration hit me. Why not use already good words and make them my own?

"Look, Spot, I get it. Youse are all in a really bad place right now. Between the poverty, sickness, and arrests, you don't think you can make life any better, right? Well, that ain't right. The way you've refused to budge or hold onto any hope of the future ain't right. Look, it's like you said. Everyone thinks we are gutter rats with no respect for nothin', including each other. And is that who we are? Well, yeah, if we just isolate each other and suffer alone, leaving each other to die, then yea, that's who we are. But if we stand together, we could change the whole game. And it ain't just about us in Manhattan! Nor any of youse here, or just any newsie! There are kids suffering across the whole city, slaving to support themselves and their folks! Ain't no crime to being poor, but at least we deserve what we ask for, and that's a square deal! So, for the sake of not only yourselves, and for anyone in Manhattan, but for every workin' kid in New York, I'm begging ya here, Spot, swallow your pride and join us. Join the strike."

As I spoke, I had attracted a crowd of all the newsies on this floor, and some older ones from the lower level as well. We stood in silence for a beat as I met Spot's brown eyes that for once were absent of rage. He then turned away and grouped the others into a sports huddle that grew even bigger as Tunes and York fetched the rest of the older boys.

They whispered amongst themselves for what seemed like forever. I looked at Jojo, who simply shrugged and went back at watching this strange affair.

Finally, Spot emerge from the huddle, and the rest stared at us. Spot spit on his hand and stretched it out for me to shake.

"Fine. We're with ya."

 **A/N Y'all seriously don't understand how much of a struggle it was to write Race's plagiarized** **reworked version of Jack's speech to the scabs.**


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

 **A/N Everest killed me off in Hunted and legit thinks Im mad at her lol shes too sweet. So close to the good stuff! There's probably only like 4 or less chapters left during the canon events before we get into the good stuff.**

 **I don't own Newsies, or any of the songs, including Brooklyn's Here, which this chapter will be referencing a LOT.**

It's a long walk from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Not a bad trolley ride, though.

Unfortunately for us, Spot refused to drag us all onto a trolley. Said it was better for us to walk anyways.

We might be a little late to the rally, though. But Spot didn't care.

"The rally don't start till we get there anyways." he had said.

We took a fairly large group. Besides Spot, Jojo, and I, our little army consisted of Freckles, Tunes, York, a Russian boy my age named Andrey, a small kid with a peg leg and an eyepatch named Pirate, the dirty dark-haired boy from earlier, who I had learned was named Francis, a tall dark-skinned girl named Arkansas, a boy with reddish hair and sunburnt skin named George, and a boy with skin scratched up with so many scars he looked like a tabby cat named Tiger.

After nearly twenty minutes, Tunes and York began leading the others in a chant that though poorly worded, definitely boosted morale.

"Newsies need our help today!" Tunes and York, and later Spot, who took over leading the cheer, would shout out.

The others would then repeat the line.

"Tell 'em Brooklyn's on their way!"

The others would once again repeat this call.

"We're from Brooklyn, we are newsies, we are Brooklyn newsies!"

And so it went, repeating this over and over. I did notice that they got much quieter near police officers, but as we left Brooklyn it was like they got louder and louder with each step.

Freckles laughed, and shouted in the general direction of where we were going. "Hey, Manhattan! The calvary's comin'!"

Tunes laughed as well and added "We got your back from way back!"

"We'll get your payback with some payback!" York shouted.

Spot smirked and cracked his knuckles. "Now them soakers is in for a soakin'! What a sad way to end a career."

Even Jojo got in on the chants and speeches. "They's a joke, but if they thinks we're joking-"

The others shouted over him "Loud and clear!" and started the main chant.

The chant remained loud, proud, and strong all the way to Manhattan. It only dimmed a little bit once we reached Medda's theater.

Spot flung back the stage doors, and we all marched on stage, which was crowded with newsies from every borough of New York City.

He smirked at them all, and shouted.

"Hey, Manhattan, never fear. Brooklyn's here!"

 **A/N Oof finally wrote that one. Almost out of canon events. Really at this point I just need to write a chapter for the rally, for Once And For All, and for the finale, and then we'll get into the noncanon stuff! I'm really excited to get into those few chapters, I have so many ideas for them! Also I used made up Brooklyn newsies (Except for Spot and York of course) because I can't remember the names of all the background newsies for the life of me (and the ones I can remember are all Manhattan) so sorry if this bothers anyone.**


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

 **A/N Everest and I saw the Bandstand proshot on Monday night I'm so happy it's so amazing. Low-key need them to put it on Netflix ASAP.**

 **It's chapters like this that make me glad that I have this entire musical memorized word for word. And also that it's on Netflix (Like Bandstand SHOULD BE cough cough) so I can double check it if I need to. Since this scene follows the exact script word for word.**

 **I don't own Newsies, nor my mother's Netflix account that I use to watch it on a weekly basis.**

"Welcome, newsies of New York City! Welcome to my theater, and your revolution!" Medda Larkin cheered as she walked into the middle of the stage where everyone was gathered.

"And, let's hear it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!" Davey added, giving a quick, grateful glance towards Jojo and I.

Spot stepped out into the center stage. "Newsies united!" he shouted, which prompted a response of cheers from everyone. This cheering went on for quite some time, until Spot quickly motioned for a stop, as if he was conducting an orchestra. "Let's see what Pulitzer's gotta say to ya now."

"Hey, Davey?" Finch asked, standing with the rest of the Manhattan newsies. "Where's Jack?"

A muttering filled the stage, and I myself found myself searching the theater for a sign of our leader. A chant began to emerge, and some even pounded their fists on the ground and stomped their signs and feet. "Jack! Jack! Jack!"

Medda said something quietly to a frazzled looking Davey, who then pushed his way back to the middle of the stage, and silenced us with a shout. "Newsies of New York!" A moment of silence passed, before he continued, a bit quieter, seeming nervous and unsure of what to do. "Look at what we've done." he began. "We got newsies from every pape, and every neighborhood tonight. Tonight, you're makin' history." His voice began to crescendo back into a confident shout. "Today, we declare that we are just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter, or editor! We are done being treated as kids. From now on, they will treat us as equals!"

An applause began to echo throughout the theater, _Nice job, new kid_. I thought.

The applause was quickly interrupted by a familiar voice. "You want to be talk to like an adult?" Jack Kelly said, as he walked through the seats of the theatre and climbed up on the stage. "Start acting like one, don't just run your mouth, make some sense," he muttered, walking to the center of the crowd.

"And here's Jack!" Davey said, stepping aside to let our leader take over the rally, looking immensely relieved. Everyone began chanting Jack's name again, even louder than before.

"Alright, ALRIGHT!" Jack shouted, shutting them all up. Something seemed… odd about him. Something was wrong.

We all sat in silence for what felt like forever, until Jack broke the silence, speaking quietly. His voice was shaking a bit. "Pulitzer..." he said, gesturing to the the drawing he had painted on the back of a backdrop, depicting a shoe crushing us all. "Raised the price of papes without so much as a woid to us, and that was a lousy thing to do." Mutters of agreement floated around the theater as Jack continued. "Soz we got mad. And we showed 'em we ain't gonna be pushed around." his voice grew louder, angrier, and yet, shakier. "Soz we go on strike! And then what happens? Well, Pulitzer lowers the price of papes soz we'll go back to work!" This triggered applause and cheering. I decided not to worry about the strange waver in his voice. He was probably just worried about Crutchie. He was still our confident leader, and we were still going to win this.

Jack put his hand us, as if he was crossing guard ordering a carriage to stop, and looked away from us. His voice got quiet again, and it sounded like he was on the verge of crying. "And then a few weeks afta that, he hikes up his price again, and don't think he won't. So what do we do then?" Everyone began to look at each other, confused. I glanced at Spot, but he was simply staring at Jack with an unreadable expression.

 _Where are you going with this, Jack?_ I wondered, growing concerned. He wasn't just our leader, but also our friend, our brother. And something was definitely wrong.

Jack got louder again, and I definitely could tell he was trying not to cry by the way his voice was breaking. "And whatta we do when he decides to raise the price again afta that? Fellas, we gotta be realistic here! If we don't work, we don't get paid!"

Davey walked up to Jack, mouth slightly open as if to say something, but before he could, Jack stood to face him. "How long can you go without makin' money?" He let that sink in for a second, then turned away from Davey. "Believe me, however long, Pulitzer can go longer."

Protests arose from us all, and we were still deeply, utterly confused. Jack looked up, focusing on nothing, as if he couldn't bring himself to look at any of us in the eye. "But I have spoken with Mr. Pulitzer. And he… he's given me his word. If we disband the union-"

"Disband the union?" Many of us shouted.

"This is madness!" I shouted, dropping my cigar onto the ground in shock

Enraged chatter filled the theater, though Jack still tried to finish what he was saying. "-he will not raise prices again for two years, he even put that in writing. Now, I say we take the deal, we go back to work knowing our price is secure, all you gotta do is vote no, vote n-"

Suddenly, Spot grabbed Jack and shoved him forward. He stumbled into the stage wing and turned around. A shadowy figure, a rich looking old white guy I'd never seen before, handed Jack a large stack of money. Jack shoved him away, a broken expression on his face.

Suddenly, everything clicked. The man worked for Pulitzer. Pulitzer must have talked to Jack,and bribed him or something. Bribed him to betray us. And he did, the idiot. The coward. I was filled with more rage than before, hatred pumping through my veins. The others seemed to realize it too. "He's a sellout!" someone shouted, though I couldn't tell who since my head was reeling, still trying to process everything that had just happened through the angry fog.

Les approached Jack, innocent as ever, and tapped his arm, Jack jerked it away like you jerk your hand away when you accidentally touch something burning hot, looking angry. As if he had anything to be angry about. As if we had been the ones who betrayed him.

Everyone began to scatter out of the theater. Spot and the other Brooklyn newsies marched out, every step resonating with unbridled fury. I chased after them.

"You're a traitor, Jack!" someone shouted from behind us. And they weren't wrong. The one person we had counted on to lead us out of the darkness had gone corrupt, accepting bribes from the very person who we were fighting against. Jack had made himself our enemy, and the strike felt more hopeless than ever.

 **A/N Welp that's that chapter. That was harder to write than I expected. Oh well. I would have added more of the things Race was shouting during this scene, but all I was able to lipread/hear was "This is madness!" even though you can clearly see him saying other stuff. Anyways thanks for reading.**


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

 **A/N Happy Thanksgiving!**

 **Standard disclaimers apply.**

"Spot! Spot! Come back!" I should, running after him. Everything was burning, and I was still in shock.

"To what, Higgins? To a failed attempt at revolution? Even your own leader decided it was hopeless and bailed out!" he replied, angrily, turning on his heel to face me.

"Just because Jack bailed doesn't mean you have to! OK, no one else is quitting! We's so close to victory, just because one guy folded doesn't mean everyone else will, OK?"

"Tonight proved that I was right deciding not to come earlier, Higgins."

"You're better than that, Spot. You don't need to fold, too. You don't need to be-"

"Be like Jack?" he said, holding my angry glare with one just as furious.

I sighed. "Yes. Like that. Look, Spot-"

"I ain't going back there, Higgins."

"Please, Race. He's not going to change his mind. Just go." Tunes said, looking at me with sympathetic eyes.

I shrugged angrily. "You know what? Fine, Spot. Be a bigger coward than Jack was tonight. Walk back to Brooklyn. Go and watch those kids die of whatever disease they have, because you didn't have enough money to take care of them. Let kids get arrested and dragged off to the Reform because you were too busy working your butt off tryin' to make enough money to survive. Go back and suffer, and conform. Go let Pulitzer walk all over you." I laughed, in spite of the situation. The irony of it all was hilarious in my crazy, rage-fueled brain. "Who'd've thought that the fearsome King of Brooklyn is a coward?" I cackled.

Suddenly, Spot shoved me to the ground. My cigar fell out of my mouth, and he crushed it underfoot. "What did you say to me?"

I sat up and spat in his face. "You're a coward."

He lunged at me again, I blocked him with my arm and retaliated with a kick to his shins. We kept fighting like this for a while, neither of us landing many blows. But the ones we did land were hard and painful.

Spot punched me right in the jaw, and my teeth cut my cheek. I spat out the blood on the ground. "Spot, please just stop!" Tunes cried out as I stood up, blood still dripping down my chin.

Freckles sighed and marched forward, shoving her hand on my face and pushing her way between the two of us. She pushed Spot away from me with her foot as York, Arkansas, and Tiger pulled back Spot, restraining him. "Enough!" she barked, stepping away from me.

I wiped the blood from my mouth and glared at Spot. He glared right back at me. "You really don't know when to give up, do you?" he snarled.

I smirked. "Good thing I don't."

He looked like he was almost about to smile, but stopped himself. "Good way to get yourself killed, Higgins."

I shrugged. "I stand up for what I believe in. Look, Spot. Just because Jack gave up doesn't mean the rest of us will. In fact, we definitely won't. We's going to stand up for what we believe in. We's street kids, and no one's gonna take us seriously unless we fight for our rights. We ain't giving up until we get what we want, no, what we need! And if you're smart, Spot, you'll fight too."

Everyone was silent for a bit. Spot relaxed a bit, despite the others' firm grasp. His eyes stared into the distance, as if he was deep in thought.

I looked down at him. "So, what's it gonna be, Spot? Are you gonna run away, or are you with us?"

He stared at me for a minute, before pulling away from York, Arkansas, and Tiger, and gave me a silent nod.

 **A/N Only two more chapters left of canon events until we get into the noncanon plot and stuff. I'm pretty excited for that, I have a lot of ideas for this story.**


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

 **A/N I got me some writer's block but I forced myself to write this chapter. Sorry it's so terrible.**

 **I don't own Newsies, nor pretty much any of the dialogue in this chapter.**

"I'll get the lights, you get those windows unlocked." Katherine ordered with a glance at Jack as she unlocked the heavy door. She pushed it open, and we followed her down the stairs into the dark, dusty basement.

"We got enough keys here for the entire building." Jack said, catching the keyring as she tossed it to him. "Hey, has somebody been pickin' Daddy's pockets?" he teased.

I wondered how he could joke about it so freely. Personally, I was still in shock from the fact that the plucky reporter who had been our strongest ally was actually the daughter of the very man we were fighting against. But clearly her status had some benefits, or we wouldn't be able to pull this off.

Katherine giggled. "The janitor's been working here since he was eight, and hasn't had a raise in 20 years! He's with us 100%."

One of the two rich guys Katherine had brought along for reasons she _still_ refused to tell us pushed past me and raced down the stairs, clutching a briefcase. The other followed.

 _Rich idiots._ I thought bitterly. _Think they own the place. Why's they even here?_

Katherine flicked a switch, and with a loud clanging sound they turned on. The contrast was blinding at first, and I blinked furiously as my eyes adjusted.

"Hey, ya bring enough fellas to keep us covered?" Jack asked Davey as the noise echoed through the room.

Davey smiled. "We could hold a hoedown in here and no one would be the wiser."

"Aight, good job."

"Hey," Davey added, putting his hand on Jack's shoulder, stopping him. "It's good to have you back again."

Jack blinked and pulled away, walking down the last few steps. "Shut up."

I stifled a laugh. Things were almost back to normal. Katherine had brought Jack back to us, and had come up with a great plan to end this war once and for all. Jack was back to his old self, back to being the fearless leader he had been when we had started the strike. And once this strike was over and the price was back where it belonged, it really would be back to normal.

I wondered if I would miss it. The excitement of the strike. Every day, wondering what would happen next. It was so different from the usual, dull days of selling papes, spending all day braving whatever miserable weather Mother Nature decided to throw at us just to earn a few cents. The thrill of the past two weeks had definitely been a treat.

Then again, it hasn't been all fun and games. We had suffered so much for this, so much that we more than deserved victory. So much had happened. The fight that left us with so many bruises and busted bones, the fight that took Crutchie away from us. The tedious work of getting the other newsies to join us. We had given so much for this strike, and gotten next to nothing in return. The fame from the article in _The Sun_ had been a bit of payment, but nowhere close to good enough.

Katherine ripped me from my thoughts, pulling a tarp from a massive metal contraption in the middle of the room. I stared at it in awe. "Here she is, boys." she said with a mischievous smile. "Now just think, while my father snores blissfully in his bed, we will be using his very own press to bring him down."

"Yea, remind me to stay on your good side." Jack replied.

The two rich guys began turning wheels and such on the press. I couldn't help but stare at the complex machine. "Hey, is this really what they print the papes on?" I asked quietly, in awe of the press, as rusty and dusty as it was.

"I can see why they tossed this old girl into the cellar." One of the rich guys said pretentiously. "But I think she'll do the job."

"Jack, this is Darcy. He knows just about everything about printing." Katherine said as Darcy walked over. Jack offered his hand to spit-shake, but Darcy was clearly disgusted by this and did nothing for a minute awkwardly. Jack picked up on this, muttered a quick apology, and wiped his hand on his pants to dry it. I rolled my eyes and laughed silently to myself. _Rich people._

"You work for one of the papes?" Jack asked, shaking Darcy's spit-free hand.

"My father own _The Trib._ " Darcy said casually, walking back to the printing press. Jack stuttered a bit, and Davey and I shared a glance. Katherine really had recruited the best of the best, the richest of the richest

"And this is Bill, he'll be typesetting the article for us." Katherine continued, gesturing to the other rich guy.

"B-Bill, and I suppose you're the son of William Randolph Hearst, right?" Jack joked awkwardly, still in shock of Darcy's status.

Bill grabbed Jack's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Yep, and proud to be part of your revolution!"

He walked away and joined Darcy at the press, leaving Jack standing, stunned, hand still outstretched. "Ain't that somethin'?"

"In the words of the little one, can we table the palaver and get back to business?" Katherine said.

"A little grease and she'll be good as gold." Darcy said, inspecting the press.

"Alright, here's how it'll work." Davey said, reviewing the plan for like, the fifth time. "As we print the papes, Race, you'll let the fellas in, and they'll spread 'em to every working kid in New York. After that…"

"Well, afta that," Jack interrupted, handing me the keys. "Afta that it's up ta them."

I headed up the stairs, the keys in one hand. Once I reached the top, I unlocked the door again. Nearly every newsie in New York stood beyond that door, awaiting further instructions. The closest was Spot, who was leaning against the wall staring at me. "It's time?" he asked. I nodded. He motioned to those behind him, and they motioned to those behind them, and so forth. And suddenly, newsies were pouring into the hallway, walking to the door, brimming with excitement and fear. I called down the stairs. "Here they come! Come on boys, let's go." I ushered them down, sharing a quick glance with Spot.

Quickly and quietly, we grabbed the papers and passed them to those still outside, who passed them on. Then we grabbed more for ourselves and ran out to pass on the papes.

We threw them in the air. Shoved them into the hands of anyone we saw. Climbed onto fire escapes and throwing them through the windows of tenement buildings. Shoved them through mail slots.

The sun was beginning to peak up, preparing to rise into the sky to start the day. I smiled at the sight. It truly was a dawn of a new day. Because this day, August 2nd, we truly were making history. We were bringing in change, once and for all.

 **A/N It's 12:24 am as I'm writing this and I'm highkey dissociating right now but thanks for suffering through this poorly written chapter. Just gotta do the one for the finale and we'll finally be out of canon events. Sorry that it's kinda boring but it was the best way for me to establish some important stuff and also because I didn't actually have any plan for this fic when I posted it (Thanks for that Everest.) But I do have a lot of stuff planned for the main plot, especially some backstory stuff for Race. Anyways thanks for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

 **A/N SO SO SO SO SO SORRY FOR THE RADIO SILENCE! I got super busy and accidentally forgot about this until Ev texted me this morning with "BRUH WE HAVENT POSTED IN FOREVER THEY PROBABLY THINK WE DIED IN SOME TRAGIC HOLIDAY RELATED ACCIDENT!" (her words, not mine. edited for CUPS though.) Anyways, enjoy the chapter, and happy (belated) holidays and happy (belated) RENT day.**

 **I don't own Newsies, it's script or characters, or nearly anything that happens in this chapter.**

We waited outside of Pulitzer's office with bated breath as the morning sun beat down on our faces, staring at the balcony, waiting for someone, anyone, to come out and give us an update.

We had spurned chaos. Or rather, the opposite of it. Nearly the whole city was on standstill. The Children's Crusade had done what we needed it to. And now? Now we just had to wait for the aftermath.

I squinted at the window. I couldn't see much, just that the others had just left the room. It was just Jack and Pulitzer now, engaged in what seemed to be a fairly heated argument.

Jack was like a storm, moving through the room, circling Pulitzer like a hawk, and gesturing wildly with his hands as he shouted words we couldn't hear. Pulitzer, on the other hand, stood almost completely still, but his stiffness and facial expressions conveyed that he was just as angry and hostile as Jack.

This went on for what felt like forever until the two stopped shouting and stood near each other, but didn't look at each other. Then came the begrudging spit-shake.

In any other situation, I would have laughed. A wealthy egomaniac spit-shaking? A wealthy egomaniac spit-shaking _with a dirty street rat?_ Oh, the irony. But instead, I just stared, desperately yearning to know what was going on.

The others came back into the room. For some reason I can't explain, I found myself staring at Spot. Perhaps I was just studying his face and movements to get a better idea of what was happening. Or perhaps that's just an excuse.

Suddenly, everyone disappeared from sight, and Spot, Katherine, Medda, Davey, and one of Pulitzer's assistants came out of the building and joined us in our crowd.

"What's happening?" I asked, leaning over to Katherine.

She smiled at me, "Good things, just wait."

We turned our heads back up as Jack, Pulitzer, and- _oh my god is that the governor_ \- walked out onto the balcony. Jack looked serious as he began to speak "Newsies of New York City…" Trailing off, his face suddenly lit up, the happiest I'd seen him since Crutchie's arrest. "We won!"

The crowd was engulfed by a storm of cheers, and I barely could even hear what Jack said next, but the noise down as Governor Roosevelt began to speak.

"Each generation must, at the height of its power step aside and let the young share the day." he preached eloquently "You have laid claim to our world and I believe the future, in your hands, will be bright and prosperous!"

As we applauded, I heard a faint and familiar clacking sound on the ground behind us. I turned my head to see if- _no, it couldn't be- it is!_

"Your drawings, son, brought another matter to bear." Governor Roosevelt said, turning to Jack. "Officers, if you please!"

A whistle blew and everyone else turned their heads to look at what I was looking at. I glanced up and saw Jack blinking as if he thought it wasn't real, as if he couldn't believe his own eyes.

"Hey, Jack, look, it's Crutchie!" I shouted pointing Crutchie made his way through the crowd.

I cringed a bit looking at the boy who was practically my brother. He was smiling, as usual, but no smile could hide the bruises and scars across his face, neck, and arms. _How could anyone do that to him?_

"Hiya, fellas, you miss me?" Crutchie chattered enthusiastically as everyone crowded around him. He glanced back behind him briefly. "And look, what I've got for youse! A gift, straight from the Refuge! Aight, bring 'em in fellas!"

Two guards marched in, death grips on a man they were dragging into view. This man was no other than Snyder the Spider himself. _Oh, how the mighty have fallen._

"Jack, with those drawings, you made an eloquent argument for shutting down the Refuge. Be assured that Mr. Snyder's abuses will be fully investigated." Roosevelt explained. He flicked his head to the side. "Officers, take hi-"

"Oh please, Your Highness," Crutchie interrupted, taking off his hat, revealing a few more bruises. "Can I do the honors?"

Roosevelt smiled and gestured with his hand. Crutchie moved slowly to Snyder, brimming with excitement as he put the handcuffs on his former captor.

"Oh, you have got to be joking!" Snyder groaned.

"Oh, yeah, and you'll be laughing all the way to the pen, _little man!"_ Crutchie tittered, kicking Snyder with his good leg.

I don't think I've envied Crutchie more than I have at this moment.

A bit more went on in a bit of a daze for me, Jack getting a job offer as a political cartoonist for Pulitzer, then deciding to leave and go to Santa Fe, then deciding _not_ to go to Santa Fe, a whole lot, mostly involving Jack and Santa Fe (god, that boy is obsessed!) But it all passed by me in a warm, fuzzy haze as I realized for the first time in a while how tired I was. But it didn't matter now.

As I walked up to buy my papers for the day, I smiled. Tomorrow, the headlines would tell of our victory. I looked around at Crutchie, Jack, and all of my other brothers. Everything was finally right again. After 16 long days of turmoil, fighting, and suffering, everything was going to be okay again.

 **A/N Heck yea! Out of canon events! Now we get to go on to my fairly vaguish plot ideas! It's gonna get DARK and it's gonna get GAYYY. WHO'S READY?!**


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

 **A/N Happy New Year! 2019 will probably be worse but at least 2018 is over!**

 **Okay I know I promised darkness and gayness but not yet not for a little bit iT WILL GET THERE I PROMISE.**

 **I don't own Newsies but I do now own the plot that this will follow!**

"Ugh, rain again. I swears we's gonna get pnuemonia one of these days." Jojo groaned, staring over the edge of the fire escape

"Could be worse. Could be snowing." I rummaged through the contents of the small piece of fabric I tied together to use as a bag for what few belonging I had. "Al, if you took my cigars again I swear to god I'll boil yer teeth."

"Wasn't me, if yer out that's yer own fault." Albert replied, casually leaning against the railing. A cap fell from a level above and hit him on the head.

"Sorry! Can you throw it back up here?" Romeo called from above.

"It's yer own dang cap, you get it." Albert said lazily as he straightened his own cap.

I rolled my eyes and tossed it up to him. "Thanks Race!" Romeo chattered, barely catching it.

Mornings were usually like this for us. Full of bickering, horsin' around, and being overall pretty unproductive. It had always been like this for us, even before the strike. Having normal mornings again was almost comforting, in a way.

It had been around 4 months since the strike, and life was so normal that some days it felt almost as if the strike had never happened. Of course, some things were much different. We didn't have to worry about selling all our papers now, and the Refuge was no longer a threat. Katherine hangs around us often, and Jack spends a couple nights each week over at her apartment. Davey and Les's father healed and returned to work, so they had to return to school. But they still hung around with us after school each day, and planned to sell papes again during summer break. But beyond that, life was pretty much just like it was before.

And yet, most days, for some odd reason, it felt like something was missing.

This feeling didn't go away all day. And by the afternoon, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Imma go on a walk. I ain't feelin' right. Like somethin's missin'." I said, putting my papers away.

Albert, who sometimes sold with me over by the tracks, squinted at me. "If it's yer cigars, I already told you, I ain't steal none of 'em."

I rolled my eyes. "I ain't talkin' 'bout my cigars. I just, I dunno, I just need to go on a walk and find myself or somethin'."

Albert laughed. "You drunk or somethin'? Youse talking like one of them rich an' high artists."

"No, I- forget it. Imma go."

"Aight then, you do that." Albert stared at me suspiciously as I walked away, back to Newsie Square. Wiesel begrudgingly bought back my papers and I walked about, not sure of where I would go next. I decided just to walk wherever and just get lost in my thoughts.

So that's what I did. And after what seemed like a lifetime of contemplation, I still had no idea what was wrong with me, what seemed to be missing. But I did realize one thing.

I had somehow walked all the way to Brooklyn.

 **A/N Sorry that was really short.**


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

 **A/N I just got into the Gigi 2014 revival and I'm highkey obsessed? Have I mentioned today how much I love Corey Cott? He's such a good singer?**

 **I don't own Newsies, I do own a few of the OCs that appear in this chapter**

The rain was finally letting up as the sun began to set. If I was home in Manhattan right now, I'd probably be ignoring the sunset, and just talking or bickering with one of my brothers. I'd smoke a cigar if I had one, and I'd tilt my hat over my face in hope of getting a full night's sleep before the morning bell woke us all up for a new day.

But I wasn't back home in Manhattan. I was in the middle of a busy street in Brooklyn, with no clue as to how I even got there in the first place.

I kept walking, hoping to make sense of where I was, when I saw a familiar face. Or, rather, the familiar face saw me.

"Hey Race!" Tunes chirped, hiding behind a trash can. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, uh, hi Tunes. I'm not really sure. What are you doin' behind that trash can?"

Her face grew serious. "See that apothecary over there? I'm going to try to steal some medicine. For the little ones."

"Is it worse there?" I asked, concerned.

She nodded. "We've lost so many in the past few months. Even Francis is sick now."

She couldn't have said anything more upsetting. The idea of those small kids having their life stolen from them, and the idea of Francis, that sweet little kid who treated going to the rally as the greatest experience of his life, nearing the same fate was horrifying to me. "I want to help."

"Are you good at stealing things?" Tunes asked.

"Manhattan's finest."

She nodded. "Ok, good, because I'm _terrible_ at it."

"Which ones are we grabbing?" I asked, cracking my knuckles.

"Welllllllllll, here's the thing. I didn't really know which ones to get so… I figured we could just try to grab all of them, or as many as we can before we get caught." Tunes replied sheepishly.

I blinked. "That's… not a good idea. Pro-tip, kid. Rule number one, well, no, rule number one is don't get caught- rule number two! Always know what youse is gonna steal, or youse is gonna break rule number one."

"So? I don't know what else to do! It's not like anyone in the Lodging House knows the first thing about medicine! We don't even know what disease the kids have!" Her voice broke as she spoke, and it was evident that she was holding back tears. "Unless you know someone in Manhattan who knows this kind of stuff, this is our only option!"

I thought for a moment, then smiled. "I might just know a guy. Youse know of trolley that can take us to Manhattan real quick?"

 **A/N I highkey didn't know what I was going to make the disease be so now I gotta go figure out what it's going to be. And I have to research 1890s treatments for that disease so that should be tedious. So please don't be surprised if it takes me awhile to get the next chapter out. Also might take a hot minute cause I'm about to force Everest to watch literally all of H2O because fish lesbians? Yes please.**


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

 **A/N Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully this chapter is worth it?**

 **Standard disclaimers apply.**

"Race, it's 8pm. Why are you here?" Davey said exasperatedly as he opened the door.

"We need your help." I said, stepping past him. Tunes cautiously followed. "You wanna be a doctor, right?"

"Yes… why? Is one of the boys sick?" Davey said nervously.

"Well, yea, but not one of ours." I explained, gesturing to Tunes. "This is Tunes. She's one of the Brooklyn newsies."

"A bunch of our younger kids are sick." Tunes elaborated in her smooth Italian accent. "We were hoping you could help us figure out what's wrong with them, and what medicine to give them."

"Okay… and why did you come here instead of finding a real doctor?" he asked, shifting his weight.

God, for someone so smart, Davey was a real idiot sometimes. "Ah, why didn't we think of that before! Ah, yes, we will leave now and go to the expensive doctor that we will pay with the billions of dollars that we have made selling newspapers on the street. Honestly, Dave, you're intellect is so far superior to mine, you're an absolute genius for that idea, no wonder you're the one headed for doctor school and not me."

Davey tilted his head back in slight exasperation, than turned and left, leaving the door open. I walked through and stood in the Jacobs' mudroom. Tunes stayed outside for a beat, before following inside cautiously, looking concerned that Davey didn't invite us in.

 _Where'd she learn them kind of manners?_ I wondered as Davey returned with a large book in a brown leather bound cover. He balanced it in an awkward position between his elbows, looked at Tunes, and nodded as he opened it to the table of contents. She blinked, confused, then realized what he wanted her to do. "They're throwing up quite a bit. They're very weak, their eyes are sunken and their skin in wrinkly. And diarrhea. So much of it. They die off pretty fast too. Takes only a week usually."

Davey's eyes widened and began flipping through. "Cholera" he said, turning the book around to show us the page.

Tunes let out a small gasp and stumbled back, shaking hard. Her eyes were unfocused and her irises shrunk, as if remembering something horrific.

Davey kept going, barely acknowledging her state. "Your water supply is contaminated, so you're going to need to find a new one, or a way to filter it. If you're able try boiling it. Otherwise, get all of your water from restaurants and bars. Oh, and you're going to need to try oral rehydration treatment and zinc supplements."

"English, Dave." I said, glancing at Tunes as she tried to calm herself down.

"Oral rehydration treatment is basically just when you give them this liquid that's either super salty or super sweet, usually both. It flushes the disease out. And you're going to need the zinc supplements, a pill, to help them fight the disease longer." He looked over at Tunes. "Must some strong kids you got over there, if they're been able to survive a full week untreated. Cholera works fast. Which is why you need everyone unaffected to get vaccinated."

Tunes nodded weakly. Davey turned back to me, looking concerned. "Especially you, Race. The last thing we need is for you to get sick, or for you to bring the disease to Manhattan."

"OK, but where are we's supposed to get vaccinated? You can't steal shots, Dave." I pointed out.

He shook his head. "Ask the nuns, I'm sure they'd be happy to help. Or ask Medda. In fact, if she finds out about this, she'll _insist_ on paying for vaccinations."

"Alright. Thanks, Davey." I said, turning to leave. Tunes also muttered some muffled thanks, still in a daze. Davey grabbed my arm.

"Seriously, Race. Before you even think about helping them, you need to get vaccinated." he said, looking at me with the concern a parent has when their child asks to play with fire.

"Yea, yea, alright, _Mom_. Thanks. I'll tell the guys you said hi." I replied, pulling away as I walked out.

Once we were back on the streets, Tunes let out a sharp exhale. Tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall despite her best efforts.

"You alright?" I asked.

She nodded slowly. "It's just… cholera. Wow. I… I had it once when I was younger. Barely made it. And… I lost three of my sisters to it. Attina, Adela, and Alana."

I knew what it was like to see someone you cared about die because of things out of your control. And I've seen what that can do to a person. Still, no words formed on my tongue, and all I could do was nod sympathetically.

She stopped in her tracks and stared up at the sky, her eyes searching, as if she might see her dead sisters up there. "I just… I want to make sure the same doesn't happen to what's left of the kids. And… I know how horrible it feels when you have cholera. It...it just breaks my heart to think that they're going through it. And I… I just can't imagine how it is in the… in the e…." Tunes trailed off, the tears defiantly streaming down her cheeks now, though she made no noise.

I put my hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it, aight? We're going to go get the stuff for that oral whatever treatment Davey was talking about, an' then everything will be alright."

She wiped her eyes. "Ok."

I pulled away and began walking again."Now, let's go steal some zinc segments."

"Supplements."

"Right"

 **A/N Told ya it was gonna get dark, now you just gotta wait for it to get GAY.**


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

 **A/N Im so sorry for not posting sooner, life got wild and I kept forgetting.**

 **Fear not my dudes, the gay is rapidly approaching! As Abuela Claudia would say, paciencia y fe!**

 **Everest spent all of first period Friday watching The Good Place on her phone and honestly it's the most iconic thing I've witnessed this school year.**

 **I don't own Newsies, any of its characters, or Tunes. Or New York City. I wish I owned NYC though, that would be lit.**

The plan was simple, and in no way foolproof. But it was simple enough to work without any problems.

Tunes would go in and talk to the man at the counter of the apothecary while I would browse the shelves for the zinc supplements and oral rehydration treatment liquids. After I had grabbed as much I could and carried in our pape bags, I would run out. If the owner didn't notice, Tunes would politely excuse herself. If he did notice, she would chase after me, pretending to help the man with getting the medicine back. But really I would just give her one of the bags and we would go back to the Lodging House to treat the kids.

So far, we were doing well. Tunes was deeply confusing the man with descriptions of wild and contradicting symptoms. I scanned the shelves.

I had found the zinc supplements pretty fast, but the liquids were harder to find.

 _C'mon c'mon c'mon you gotta be_ somewhere _._ I thought, becoming stiff with anticipation as I quietly shuffled throughout the store.

Then finally, it caught my eye. A shelf of bags labeled "ORT mix." I grabbed as many as I could. I had expected them to be in bottles, but powders were even better. We would just have to steal bottled water from a different store.

"And my foot turned green, like bright grass green, for like, five minutes, and then it turned into a hand, but then I poked it and it was a normal foot again." Tunes explained to the poor cashier.

I walked quietly, ducking behind shelves, switching aisles if anyone was in it.

"That… doesn't sound good. I'm not sure we have anything for those… symptoms, however. Sorry, miss."

Tunes glanced quickly at me. I held two fingers at the side of my chin. Our signal. She turned back to the man.

"The worst thing, though, is I got all this painful warts. You got anything for that?"

The man nodded. "Yes. May I see the warts so I know which type to recommend.

Tunes began tugging dramatically at her skirt. "Oh, yeah, sure. But, uh, they're kinda, well, _down below,_ if you know what I mean."

The man turned red. "Oh, t-there's no need for that, miss. I'll, I'll get some ointment."

He stepped out from behind the counter and into the aisles. I inched my way toward the door. I was just so close…

"Oi, sir, that's quite of few items you're carrying there. Do you want me to get you a bag?"

I froze. _Dangit._ With a nervous nod, I turned to face him. "That'd be great, thanks."

The man flashed me a smile and turned back to the shelves to get Tunes' medicine. Tunes, still at the counter, gave me frantic look

My head was screaming for me to run, but I was frozen in my tracks. _Those kids need you, Race. You gotta go._

As soon as his back was turned to me, I bolted, heart pounding, skin pale. I could hear the man shouting after me. I could hear "do-gooders" doing the bare minimum of their so called "civic duty" and shouting at me as well.

I wove through the streets, hopelessly lost, wondering how I'd get to the Brooklyn Lodging House. Finally, I heard reassuring footsteps running just as fast behind me.

 _Tunes_. I thought, in relief. She would know the way back.

Tunes stopped and grabbed my arm, yanking me to a stop. _She's stronger than she looks._ I turned back and…

It wasn't Tunes who grabbed my arm, but a police officer.

My eyes widened in fear as panic rushed through my veins. I began to try and pull away, but his grip was too strong. He smirked.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" the police officer drawled.

 _I have to get out. I have to get to those kids, I have to get home._ I kicked up, hoping to hit him in the nuts, but I missed. Aggravated, he lifted his baton and cracked it over my head.

Too tired to fight anymore, I let myself fall to the ground as my vision turned red. I closed my eyes and succumbed to the welcoming darkness.

 **A/N Newsies is leaving Netflix in 9 days and Im not okay**


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

 **A/N Finally! We're getting deeper into this plot, and the gay is RAPIDLY APPROACHING. This will be a fairly short chapter mostly of Race angst.**

 **Standard disclaimers apply.**

It's so dark out today. Must be a cloudy morning. Or maybe I'm waking up too early and the moon's still out. I really hope so. I could use the extra sleep right now, I have the worst headache. Like, as if someone smashed it in with a brick.

Still, I opened my eyes to check. But instead of seeing the smoggy New York night sky, Albert and JoJo asleep only a few feet next to me, I was in an empty, concrete jail cell, with only a slight bit of light, coming from a heavily barred window above me, to break through the darkness. The sun was rising.

 _This isn't Manhattan_. I thought, trying to stand up, only to find I was too tired and too much in pain to do so. Defeated, I buried my head in my hands. Something sticky and brittle brushed against my finger. I looked at it.

Dried blood.

Suddenly all of the events of yesterday came rushing back to me and I felt very dizzy. Leaning back against the cell wall, I drifted off into darkness again.

I woke again sometime later. I didn't know how long it had been, a couple hours, a couple days. All I knew was pain.

 _I shouldn't be in here, I shouldn't be in a prison. I should be in Brooklyn, helping those kids. I should be in Manhattan, with my brothers. I should be out on the street, selling some phony headline to some sucker. I should be yelling at Albert to stop touching my cigars. I should be trying to earn extra cash so I can help buy Crutchie buy a new crutch, cause God knows he needs one. I should be_ home _, not rotting in wherever I am._

These thoughts hurt my head more, so I held my breath and forced myself back into the blissful darkness.

I woke again to a woman's soft voice. I looked up. My vision was blurry, but I could see that she had ebony skin and a head of dark hair with streaks of grey. She looked so similar to Medda that it would be comforting if she wasn't wearing a prison guard's uniform.

"Eat up, kid." She said gently, placing a tray with some food on the ground in front of me. "You'll need it to survive this place."

I stared at the tray. On it rested some soup that looked more like water, and a small dinner roll that looked hard and stale. Still, I picked up the bread. It was better than nothing.

I bit into it to find it wasn't as hard as I'd thought. I quickly finished it, realizing how hungry I had been. The woman smiled and left. I smiled back and leaned against the wall. Nothing tasted better than food when you're starving.

That was how the next few days. I would wake up, the woman would bring me food, and I would slip in and out of consciousness, still not sure where I was or how long I was there. All I knew was the pain in my head, the soft voice of the woman, the taste of the food, and the cold of the ground.

Until the cycle changed.

I awoke to the door opening and sat up, hungry and dizzy. But instead of the woman, a guard came in and threw a small heap of red in, before locking the door. My vision was blurred and my head was pounding from the commotion, so I just stared as the light gently faded out while the angry heap of red swore furiously at the guard who threw him in.

Next I woke, the heap of red was standing above me, observing my face. My vision was blurry, so I couldn't make out much, but enough. He was small, but very well built. Well, _extremely_ well built. To the point where I was slightly aroused. But I was too tired for that, so I just went back to sleep.

I woke to my cellmate and the woman arguing loudly. It seemed he was winning the argument, and she walked over, still carrying both trays, setting them both by me before leaving. My cellmate seemed pretty smug.

I offered his share to him, but he repeatedly refused, so I gave up and ate it all. Content and exhausted from being awake for so long, I drifted off again.

We kept doing this for days, and I slowly began to feel better, the pain in my head fading, my vision clearing a bit. I still wasn't just like I was before, but I would be soon.

I must have been in there, two, no, three weeks.

One night, it began snowing outside. I hate January, or February, whatever month this is. We hadn't been given blankets or anything. It was just us and the cold concrete, which was like ice that night. We both lay on the ends of the room away from the window.

I was shivering. Hard. I hoped that my cellmate wouldn't notice, he'd already done so much. But he did.

With a soft groan, he dutifully scooted to where I was wrapped his arms around me to give me a bit more heat. It was comforting, and definitely helped, but the question that had been ricocheting through my mind ever since he started giving me his meals still sat on my tongue.

Quietly, I decided to ask.

"Hey, Spot, how come you're doing all this?"

 **A/N GAY HAS ARRIVED**


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

 **A/N I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update! School's gotten crazy and I haven't had any freetime thanks to driver's ed, and I've been drowning in writer's block. I'll try to be more on top of it, hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently this summer. Still, I feel bad that I left y'all on a cliff hanger, and even more bad that after all this time that this is only a short chapter, but y'all are getting a bit of fluff at least. Also, just a heads up some backstory chapters are coming up soon.**

 **Standard disclaimers apply.**

He didn't respond right away. We just stayed there, shivering in the dark. Together, but alone.

I broke the silence. "Seriously. We barely know each other, and yet, here youse are, giving me what little food yer given in the first place, an' keeping me warm like we's dating or somethin'."

"You risked yerself to try an' help my boys. And you wouldn't have even gotten' anythin' out of it." his voice sounded a bit raspier than usual, as if he had bruised his vocal cords. "I respect that, Higgins. Besides, if ain't been for youse, we'd still be payin' 60 cents with no refunds." He pulled away, and I suddenly realized how warm his touch had been. "An' if you ain't comfortable with me so close, I can stop if you want. Ya might freeze, though."

"No, it's… it's fine. I don't kind."

He shrugged and curled his arms around me again, seemingly tighter than before.

I prayed he wouldn't be able to see how hard I was blushing.

"So…" I said, sounding more awkward than I intended. "This is the Reform, huh?"

"Yep."

"How'd you even land yerself in here?"

"Tunes came running back to the Lodging House and told us what happened. So we came to spring you. Didn't go as we planned." he replied with a shrug.

"You came and risked yourself just for me?" I replied, confused.

Spot smirked. "Well, we came to get a couple of ours who'd gotten arrested too, but yeah. They keep extending this God forsaken place, though, so we couldn't get to you in time."

"And by 'in time' you mean before they got you too." I said, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. "They almost got Freckles, but I shoved her out of the way and the guy got me instead. Dunno if the others got out okay, they threw me in here real quick." His voice suddenly got quieter, and his grip on me got even tighter. "You was so injured I thought youse was dead at first."

I cringed. "How long have I been in here?"

"Tunes came to us about three weeks ago, but she'd been missing for a week before that. So, around a month, I guess. I've been in here 'bout a week."

 _A month. I've been in here a month. My brothers have no clue where I am or what happened to me. For all I know, they probably think I'm dead._

The revelation was no welcomed or comforting in anyway, and despite my best efforts, I began to quietly cry. Hot tears streamed down my cold face, and I trembled more than I had been before. I tried to stay quiet because the absolute last thing I needed was for Spot Conlon to see me crying. God, my head hurts.

Unfortunately, I failed at being quiet and subtle. Spot noticed almost immediately. He pulled me closer and ran his fingers through my hair while speaking softly. It was the most gentle I've ever seen or heard him.

"It's aight Higgins, you'll be fine. We told Jack what happened, if that's what you're worrying about."

I sniffed. That was a bit of relief, but I still felt guilty. "It's my fault you got arrested, though."

"If you think about it, it's really my fault. If I'd agreed to help with the strike in the first place, you wouldn't have seen how bad off we were. And then you wouldn't have tried to steal is medicine."

"That's not true. It's all my fault. You don't need to take the blame."

"I do, because it is my fault, Higgins."

I didn't respond, I just kept crying, like an idiot. He just kept saying things in the oddly gentle voice, trying to offer me some comfort.

There are worse things than this. There are worse things than seeing Spot Conlon's soft side. There are worse things than crying in front of the same guy who some regard as a king. There are worse things than freezing or starving to death. There are worse things than a bad head injury. There are worse things than going insane in a jail cell.

I was still scared, though. Terrified really. Not because of those things though. I was afraid of something much more frightening and uncertain.

I think I'm falling in love with Spot Conlon.

 **A/N BRACE YOURSELVES FOR THE GAY**


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

 **A/N aight y'all settle down it's backstory chapters time this might take a while.**

The next week was similar, but with less crying. Slowly, my head healed up, and I was strong enough to let (well, more like _force_ ) Spot to eat his own food provisions.

The woman came in three times a day to give us our food. I learned her name was Alice, and she had been sneaking painkillers in my food to help with my concussion. It hadn't done too much before, but it definitely helped me now. And once I had convinced Spot to eat his own food, tensions between him and Alice definitely lessened.

Spot and I talked about everything spanning from selling spots to the meaning of life. After all, when you're locked up in jail, what else is there to do but talk to your cellmate?

Though it's a bit hard to talk to your cellmate when you're hopelessly in love with them.

Love is always difficult, and at best, an inconvenience. Especially when you're like me. I've had plenty of crushes, but I've only been head over heels in love before.

It didn't end well.

Yet, I still couldn't stop myself from nearly falling apart every time I looked at Spot. There was just… something about him that was different. Something I couldn't handle.

Even though I knew he probably never would love me the same way. It's hard to find boys who like boys, especially since, for some ungodly reason, it was illegal. We always had to hide from everyone. So many of us Manhattan were gay too, but I'd always considered them brothers rather than potential lovers.

There were so many who were gay or bi or whatever among the Manhattan newsies that Jack used to joke that there was something in the water. That even the frogs were gay. The only thing in Brooklyn's water was cholera.

But this didn't stop me from talking to him.

Or from falling asleep curled up next to him every night.

"So, how'd you start sellin' papes?" I inquired one night. It was a warmer night, though not one without misery. The thawing snow had been dripping down through our window, soaking us with dirty water. To avoid the water we had been sitting at a slight distance from each other.

He looked up, staring at nothing particular, his face an unreadable sea of emotions. "Well, Ise always lived in Brooklyn. Had a big family. Ma never married but always had a bunch of lovers that never stayed for long. They always fled whenever she got with child. Afraid of commitment, I guess." He sighed. "At least they were kind to us when they did stay. I had seven older sisters and four younger ones. Was the man of the house the minute I was born."

"Wow."

"Yeah. So my older sisters and Ma all worked in the factories, trying to make ends meet, while me and my younger sisters went to the public school a few blocks from our tenement building." He sucked in a breath, then released as the memories rushed in. I could see traces of pain in his eyes. "We were all ok until the youngest working ones, Mary and Anna, got caught in some machines and died. After that, money was too tight, and Ma had to pull the four of us out of school. Except, the factory had a rule against letting anyone younger than eight work there. I was only six then, and the youngest of us, little Florence, was only two. But then my sister Bess saw the newsboys hawking papers and suggested we did that. So we started selling part time."

"Oh." It was a much lighter story than my own. "What happened to the rest of your family then? Your sisters still working factories?"

He leaned back and stared at nothing, his eyes dripping with sorrow.

Fearing I'd pressed to much, I stuttered. "Oh, sorry, um, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Sorry." _Great, he probably hates me now. Great going, Race._

He shook his head. "No, it's fine, Higgins. We sold for about two years, and life was okay. But, something started goin' around at the factory, and my mom and sisters caught it, then the rest of us got it too. Couldn't work for weeks. Some of us starved, some of us died of the disease." He grew monotone, refusing to show any emotion. "Ma was the first to leave us."

He turned away from me, shuddering ever so slightly. It almost scared me how free of emotion his voice was. "Soon it was just me and Florie. I don't think I've ever been so scared. I knew we was both going to die, though I think I was more scared for Florie at the time."

"How'd you survive, then?"

He sighed again, then turned to me. "The other Brooklyn guys came to find us. Apparently, our leader back then, a guy named Trumpet, had been gettin' worried since we hadn't been showin' up to sell. They all pitched in to get us at least some food, bought or stolen, just so we could survive a little longer. Florie and I eventually got better, went back to sellin'. We still had the apartment, but we slept at the Lodging House anyways. Ended up just sellin' that ol' dump. Rent was too much."

The emotion began to creep slowly back into his voice. Thank God. The apathy he had been speaking with before had really begun to unnerve me, especially since he was speaking of such dark things. "Didn't grow much, so they started callin' me Spot. And Florie honestly looks like someone seasoned her skin, so they call her Freckles. Rest is history, I guess."

"Wow, that's…" My mouth felt dry, and no words sat on my tongue. What could I honestly say to a story like that without sounding like an insensitive prick? Especially since there's a good chance that that's the first time Spot Conlon has opened up that much to _anyone_ ever. "That's… I'm so sorry you went through all that…"

God, I sound like an idiot.

He shrugged, blinking away the sorrow in his eyes. "It's nothing. I got the guys now, and Freckles is still around at least."

We sat in awkward silence for a bit, neither of us quite knowing with to say. I shuffled a bit closer to him.

A bit of water dripped from the window, splashing us ever so lightly. He let out a small, stiff laugh, then turned to me. "So what about youse? What's your sob story?"

 _Dangit._ I remember when I was younger, and our leader had been teaching me how to lie and steal.

" _Remember, Eddie." Berkeley had said. "Never ask a question you can't answer yourself."_

"I, uh, it's a really long story, actually. Reeeeeeeallly long." I mumbled, blood rushing to my face.

Spot nudged me with his elbow. "We got some time. I told you mine, you tell me yours."

I swallowed. _Me and my big mouth_. Oh well. Here goes nothing. "Okay…"

 **A/N Sorry not sorry for the kind of cliffhanger. Just a warning, there will be a couple of backstory chapters in this next section, so brace yourselves. Also, it will be told in Race's POV at that time, with Spot and Race's commentary in italics.**

 **And now for a rant from your favorite smol angry history nerd anyone who was confused as to why Berkeley called Race Eddie and not Anthony. First off, idk what uneducated binder clip in the fandom came up with the "Race's name is Anthony" thing, but guess what ya soggy pebble, YOU'RE WRONG. I just texted Chief, and guess what he said. "THIS AIN'T IT!" Race, like a few other people in Newsies, were REAL PEOPLE involved with the Newsboys Strike of 1899. The real Racetrack Higgins was actually the leader of Brooklyn (though Spot Conlon was also a real person. Actually, there's a theory that Spot and Race were actually the same person, which makes Sprace kind of funny, literally anyone please make that fic and I will love you forever, maybe it could be a Next To Normal crossover or something.) and he's one of the few in which we actually know their real names! Guess what it is! If you guessed Anthony, DING DONG, you are wrong, go home, this is Jeopardy, not Family Feud, no stupid answers allowed! If you guessed Ed or Eddie, congrats! You win a virtual toaster and my personal Seal of Approval Regarding Common Sense and Knowledge of Vaguely Important Things! History! Learn it! His name ain't Anthony so I ain't calling him Anthony! Screw Anthony, whoever he is, unless we're talking about Anthony Zas, Anthony Rosenthal, or Anthony Ramos, because they are precious beans who are therefore exempt from the Not Liking Anthony Whoever He Is! And Race is also exempt from that because HIS NAME IS NOT ANTHONY IT IS ED. Thank you for coming to my TED talk!**

 **I will be using the fanon names of characters in which I could not find the real name of (i.e. Spot is Sean, Crutchie is Charlie, e.t.c.) unless someone can find me their real names and a vaguely reliable source telling why their name is the name you have told me it is! If you would like to review the story, please do! I love seeing reviews from my readers! Or, if you would like to fight me over Race's first name in the reviews or PMs, then come fight me! I am armed with the truth, whereas you arrived to battle armed only with lies, blasphemy, and Tumblr posts!**

 **Thank you for reading my fic and also that really long author's note. Here, have a cookie.**


	19. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

 **A/N I AM SO SO SO SO SORRY ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I UPDATED**

 **MY LAPTOP HAS BEEN JUST THE WORST AND THEN I LEGIT FINISHED THE CHAPTER A WHILE AGO AND I JUST KEPT FORGETTING TO POST IT IM SORRY YALL. I HOPE THIS WAS WORTH THE WAIT.**

 **ALSO HAPPY ITH DAY**

 **Aight time to write out Race's long long long backstory.**

 **I don't own Newsies, Race, Spot, Charlie, or New York. I do own the fictional orphanage in this chapter, and any additional characters.**

I had never known the meaning of the word "home." At least not as a kid.

My parents had died when I was only one.

" _I actually did some digging in the public record a couple months ago." I added, fidgeting. "Didn't even know there was one. Katherine had to show me."_

" _What'dya find?" Spot asked._

" _There was a fire in the tenement building they lived in." I stifled a laugh. I don't know why I found it funny; it was so morbid. Two grown adults burned to death but I, an infant who couldn't even walk yet, somehow made it out._

I grew up in a little orphanage, just a few blocks away from Trinity Church. A couple cruel old ladies ruled the place with an iron fist. There was one nun who worked there, too, but surprisingly, _she was the nice one._

I don't remember the name of the place, I blocked it out. It was small, just six tightly packed bedrooms for us kids, separated by age groups, one nursery for the babies, a kitchen, a dining room, and a small playroom. We didn't even have a bathroom, just chamber pots.

" _If you were bad, you'd have to change out the chamber pots." I sighed. "I had that job a lot."_

The ladies who ran it had us do chores. We were less of their charges and more of their servants. The playroom was practically empty except for the kids tasked with cleaning it. All work, no play. If you were lucky enough, they'd favor you over the others, and you'd wait on them all day. I was never lucky enough for that.

The only days that were any fun at all were when people looking to adopt came, or whenever health and safety inspectors visited. Those were days of play, no chores, just fun. Of course, we did have to pretend to be happy, healthy, and carefree so that our only home wasn't shut down, or so we could be taken to a new one.

" _I remember trying so hard to get adopted. The nun always tried to help me whenever they came, since I tended to be unpleasant. 'Smile, Eddie, you have to smile.' She would always remind me." I let out a strained laugh. "Guess she didn't remind me enough, though. I was still stuck in that dump until I was seven."_

If any of us made them look bad when people visited, the ladies would beat us. If we didn't do our jobs, they would beat us. If we did anything they didn't like, they'd beat us. They were very fond of beatin' us, I think.

" _You would not believe how bruised I'd been back then."_

That's what scared the new kid the most, I think.

" _I don't remember much before he came." I shrugged. "Wasn't really that significant before then, I guess. Besides, we was so young…"_

He arrived when I was just four. It had been a late, clear summer night. The moon lit up the room. A few other kids had arrived the last week, and there were barely any free beds. The only ones left were on the top bunk.

I had a bed by the window, and I used to stand up and stare out it at night, praying I'd get out soon. But that night, there was a bit of a commotion downstairs

I watched as a couple walked towards our doorstep. They were blue-collar workers, judging by how their faces appears worn down by age despite clearly being young. The woman carried a small, blonde boy around my age in her arms.

I remember thinking, "Wow, I wish I had that. That's what I really need." Because, well, they just seemed like some normal family going out for a late night stroll. But then, they approached the door of the orphanage.

I watched as they sat the boy on the porch. The man knocked on the door, then he and the woman took off running. Without the kid.

I watched as he started crying, screaming for his mother. I watched as he stood up to chase after them, only for his leg to collapse underneath him. I watched as he fell on the pavement. I watched as the door opened, and one of the ladies picked him up and brought him inside.

For the next two hours, I heard the argument on what to do downstairs, punctuated by the screaming of the boy.

" _I remember wondering how everyone else could sleep. It was too interesting to ignore, to interesting to sleep through."_

" _That's… that's a bit sick, Higgins." Spot pointed out. "Kid gets abandoned by his family and you treat it like you're watching some play at the Bowery."_

" _Yeah, I guess. Four-year-old me didn't care much, though. I'd never seen someone arrive at the orphanage before, and I'd heard this much resistance from a new kid. It was fascinating."_

After what seemed like forever, I heard footsteps as the crying grew closer. I knew better than to be caught awake at this hour, so I pretended to be asleep as one of the ladies came in, practically dragging the kid behind her.

"There's an empty bed up there." she said, her voice absent of any emotion as she pointed to one of the top bunks. She then kicked the kid lightly. "Now, shut up and go to sleep."

Her heels clacked on the ground as she left and shut the door. I always hated that sound.

The kid sat up, still sobbing. He tried to stand up and climb the ladder to his bed. He made it just three rungs before falling to the floor, sobbing harder than before.

 _Geez, this kid is gonna get himself killed._ I thought.

The excitement was pretty much over, and I wanted to get some sleep. But I couldn't really do that with this kid screaming and falling on the floor. Plus, I had gotten pretty tired of watching him try after roughly thirty seconds.

I got out of the bed and approached him cautiously. "Hey." I whispered. "Youse havin' trouble gettin' up there?"

That's when I noticed his right leg. It was all twisted and limp behind him. He wasn't putting any weight on it.

He looked back at me, still crying, and nodded so slightly that if I'd blinked, I'd've missed it.

Without knowing why, I said "Mine's on the bottom level. We can share it, if you want."

He gave a light nod again and I helped him to his feet. "Got a name?" I asked helping him over and into the bed.

He didn't answer, simply curling up and crying.

 _Geez, neither of us are getting much sleep tonight, huh._ I thought. But I was wrong. After all, toddlers can only stay up so late before passing out.

The next day, he was still crying. Probably didn't help that literally everyone was staring at him. But what can you do? He was the new kid after all, and to all the kids at the home, that was alien and fascinating.

Maybe it would have helped if he had said anything to anyone.

I tried to ask him his name again as we went downstairs to breakfast. No response, only tears.

We sat down at this long wooden table with benches that gave you splinters and made the most awful creaking noises when you sat down. New kid didn't seem to like this. The ladies began to walk around, distributing oatmeal.

Oh, did I say oatmeal? Sorry, I meant _gruel._ Eating the "oatmeal" they served at breakfast tasted like licking the inside of a toilet with the waste still inside: straight up nasty. I don't think it even had oats in it.

" _How could you possibly know what licking the inside of a toilet with the waste still inside tastes like." Spot said._

" _I'll get to that." I replied. Ignoring his concerned expression, I continued._

The fattest lady, a mean old woman named Miss Helena, handed me a bowl. The kid reached for his as well, but Miss Helena shook her head.

"No, no." she said in her husky, droll voice. "You must give us answers first, child. What is your name."

Well, this just made him cry even more. Which caused her to hit him with the wooden spoon she was scooping soup into.

"You musn't cry so much and so loud! You'll get food when you stop crying and tell me your name." She said sharply as she cracked the spoon over his knuckles.

He cried out in pain and she walked away. I could tell that he wasn't going to tell her anything anytime soon, so I might as well help him, right?

"Hey, you can have my food." I whispered.

He looked at me, tears still streaming down his face, as if he was worried I was messing with him.

"Go on," I said, pushing the bowl towards him. "Take it. I don't want it anyways. It's all yours. Just make sure she doesn't see you eating it, or we'll both be in trouble."

He stared at me, then quietly began to eat like it was the first meal he'd had in months, casting the occasional fearful glance over at Miss Helena. Once he finished, he wiped his mouth, pushed the bowl back to me, and stared at it wistfully, as if he'd had to watch me eat it. I already could tell this kid would be trouble, so it was a good thing he seemed to be on my side.

After everyone had finished, Miss Helena came over to us. "Will you tell me your name now?" She booked, brandishing her wooden spoon as if it was a sword.

The kid only cried, staring at her while defiantly sobbing. Frustrated, she raised her spoon to hit him, when Sister Mary, the nun, ran over and stopped her.

"Helena, please, he's only a little kid."

"He's being insubordinate!"

"Give him a break, Helena, his whole life just got turned upside down, I don't blame him for being upset, do you? How about you have someone give him a tour, ok? I'm sure he'll be more comfortable with talking if he knows where everything is." she suggested, slowly sliding the spoon out of Miss Helena's hand.

Miss Helena grumbled to herself, then shouted "LYDIA!"

Lydia Talbott, a tall girl around eight years old, shuffled over to the table. "Yes, Miss Helena?" She said sweetly, smiling.

I rolled my eyes. Lydia was all the ladies' favorite. Always did what she was told, never broke any rules, always annoyingly polite. It would have been so hard to hate her if she was mean or a tattletale, but no, she had to be nice to _everyone_ , and never told the ladies if she caught me or anyone else doing anything bad. Of course she'd be the one they'd choose to give the new kid a tour.

Miss Helena squinted at her. "Give the new brat a tour of the establishment."

At this, new kid began crying again, and clutched onto me. I tried to shake him off, not wanting any trouble (for once) but he had a death grip on my arm.

Miss Helena took notice to this quickly. "Get off 'im or I'll beat ya both."

Lydia interjected nervously. "Miss Helena, it's obvious he's uncomfortable going alone, perhaps Eddie could come with us? If it would help the new boy, that is."

New kid nodded furiously while Lydia looked at Miss Helena expectantly. She finally groaned and relented. "Alright. But I ain't want no trouble, you hear me, Higgins?"

"Trouble, me? Never."

…

"So this is the bedroom, well, you probably already knew that since you slept there last night, but you'll go to a different one when you get older. Well, if you don't get adopted first.." Lydia rambled as me and the new kid lagged behind.

I was bored out of my mind. But hey, anything to get out of the morning chores.

While Lydia rambled, the new kid leaned over to me and whispered "Charlie."

"What?"

"That's what my name is. Charlie Morris."

"Ed Higgins. Everyone calls me Eddie." We shook hands awkwardly.

Lydia, who had overheard, turned to face us. "I'm glad you opened up to us, Charlie, but you really should do the same for the ladies and Sister Mary. Otherwise you'll just invite trouble for yourself."

Charlie stopped. "I… I… please don't tell them, uh…"

"Lydia Talbott."

"Right. Please don't tell them…"

"I won't, but you need to. This is your home now, like it or not, Charlie. Eddie and I will help you through it as much as we can, but if you hold out, Miss Helena will have a vendetta against you." She said, flashing him a warning smile.

Charlie nodded. He didn't say anything else the rest of the day.

The next day, he didn't say anything again. Nor the next. Or the next.

Miss Helena was getting fed up, but she wasn't truly angry until the fifth day. Charlie had somehow managed to fashion himself a slingshot, and was launching rocks at Miss Helena the whole meal. Once she found him as the culprit she put him on chamber pots duty for the rest of the week. Almost did the same for me and Lydia, for laughing.

For the next week, Charlie would only say anything to me and Lydia, and only if no one else was around. He still refused to say anything to anyone else for about a week, until Miss Helena threatened to hit me until he spoke. As soon as he let up and said his name, Helena and the other ladies dragged him off to their office. I didn't see him the rest of the day.

Later that night, after everyone else had fallen asleep, I was still up, waiting for my friend. Finally Charlie staggered into the room. They had given him an old, broken, wooden crutch. They also had given him an abundance of bruises on his face and arms, and a bloody nose.

Smiling, Charlie dropped his crutch and climbed into our bunk. He glanced at me with a grin. "I think I'm going to hate it here!"

Then he collapsed and fell asleep, his breathing ragged with his injuries.

After that day, Charlie, Lydia, and me were a troublesome trio for the ladies. Always destroying something or pranking that. A general nuisance to everyone in the home. We were like the three musketeers of chaos.

Until Lydia got adopted a year later.

The night she left, Charlie sat and stared out the window. He was closer to her than I was, and hadn't said anything since we all said goodbye.

"You okay?" I asked, giving up on getting some sleep myself. He had stopped crying at least.

"Yeah, it's just… I'm going to miss her. Maybe we'll see her again. I hope we do." Charlie said, his eyes fixed on the moon. "God, to think of leaving this place… what a dream!"

"Hey, maybe you'll get adopted soon too. You'll be free too."

He shook his head. "I don't want to be adopted. I don't need to be."

"What, you'd rather spend the rest of your life here?"

"I won't. My parents are coming back for me. Hey, maybe when they get back I can ask them to take you in, too!" He said with a smile.

"What?"

It turned out that Charlie thought his parents were just dropping him off real quick until they could pay to feed him. His parents both worked in factories, and so did Charlie's older brother. He was supposed to as well. But then he and his brother both got really sick with some disease (which we later realized was polio.) Charlie survived but lost all use of one of his legs. His brother wasn't as lucky. So his parents told him something about being "too broke to pay for someone too useless to work," so they left him at the home and made a run for it.

And so, he thought they would come back to get him once they could afford to take care of him. I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth, so I let him believe it.

Except he kept fantasizing about what life would be like when his parents came back.

"They'll come marching up to the steps holding bags of money and look Miss Helena right in the eye and say 'Please give us our son back!' and then you'll come with us too, and we can live in a mansion by the Hudson River away from the city, near a mountain with a ton of trees and fields to run where you can see all the stars and all the cake and cookies and candy we could ever want and we'll never see a chamber pot again!" He would ramble, with a wistful look in his eyes.

" _Charlie was always a dreamer." I said, looking up at the moon through the cell's bars. "Still is, I guess, but not as much as he used to be. Forced to grow up too early, I guess."_

" _Ah, so this kid's still around." Spot noted. "From the way youse was talking 'bout 'im I was startin' to think he was dead!"_

" _No, he's still very alive. Been my brother for over ten years now. But I'll get to that."_

After around two years, Charlie had finally given up on the hopes of his parents coming back. But he still had dreams.

One day, he told me his wildest one yet. And the craziest part? He was determined to make it a reality.

Smiling, staring out at the moon again at night, he whispered "Eddie, we're gonna escape this dump."

 **A/N GOOD LORD THAT TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE. It's going to be a hot minute before I can post a new chapter, these ones take forever to write. And this is only the beginning! Still have a ton of backstory to still write! But enjoy this for now I guess, if you're bored go read some of Everest's stuff, it's all iconic. Thanks for reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

 **A/N Hey guys! So, I know you're probably thinking "Hey, I thought you died!" but no, I didn't. I mean I kinda did. NaNoWriMo killed me. But I lived!**

 **First off, I really want to apologise for falling off the face of the Earth. I got distracted by a bunch of other projects, and then I tried to do NaNoWriMo, which, for those of you not super active in the writing community, is the writer's equivalent of going 30 days without sleep and then promptly launching yourself directly into the sun, so then I got super intense writing block after that, and then my school's theatre productions were keeping me busy, and I kinda forgot about this. But, our spring play hath been vibe checked by COVID-19, and then our whole school year got vibe checked by COVID-19, and Everest reminded me that this exists, so I'm back! But super sorry again for disappearing!**

 **Also, thank you guys so much for still reading this? I was looking at the Wattpad stats and somehow this is the second most popular Sprace fic on the site? Holy heck? thank you so much I'm not worthy? but yeah, I'm basically trapped in my house for the next few who knows how long because coronavirus said that we really don't get rights so you guys can probably expect a couple of chapters in the next few weeks?**

 **Thanks for reading and waiting almost a year for a new chapter, I don't own Newsies or anything else, except the all stuff I fricking left in my locker at school and if they throw it all out before I can get back to school I'm fighting the president.**

Everyday, Charlie would ramble about his plans to get out. Climbing out the window with some feathers and try to fly far away. Tying a bedsheet out the window and climbing down. Find the roof and climb out on top of it. Sneak out dressed as one man in a trench coat.

Our actual plan was no less stupid, but to our little six and seven year old brains, it seemed the most plausible (and most fun).

On the top floor, we had this sort of balcony. Really it was a fire escape, but the ladies had taken down most of it so we couldn't escape.

" _Good thing I didn't know how my parents died back then, I'd have been terrified! I mean, seriously, if there was a fire, we'd all be dead!"_

Anyways, on the "balcony" there were a few clothing lines connecting to the building across us. We would rotate whose job it was to do the laundry, to carry it upstairs, and to put it on the line.

One day, Charlie and I were on clothesline duty. The lady watching us had left to use a chamber pot, so we were alone for a few minutes.

"Eddie, what if we went down on the wire to escape?" He said, bouncing energetically like he always did when he had an idea.

I thought he was joking, so I laughed. "You're crazy."

"No, I'm dead serious Eddie! We could take one of the baskets and tie it over the wire with a bed sheet or somethin'! Then we can ride it down across the alley, and once we're down the fire escape, we're home free!" He whispered, shivering with excitement.

" _Well, you know how little kids are. No self preservation. Why would we think for a second about the risks? We didn't care about falling. Just getting out."_

"Alright, let's do it!" I said, bouncing with excitement myself.

Charlie took one of the empty wicker backers we carried laundry in and tied it to the back of the balcony with an old towel. The lady came back, and we bided our time.

Finally, it was a little ways past eight o'clock, and almost everyone had settled down to sleep. As soon as we thought everyone else was asleep, we went to work.

I quietly pulled the old sheets off the bed while Charlie kept watch. Then, we quietly snuck out to the balcony, fearing every creak of the floorboard. Almost silently, we retrieved the basket, and tied either end around the wire with the sheets.

We both decided that Charlie should go first, since he would have trouble getting in on his own. I lifted him up, and he hoisted himself into the basket, and zipped across the alley. He half jumped, half fell out of the basket, and turned to give me an estatic smile. When he had landed, however, a loud crashing sound had sounded from the fire escape across the alley. I cringed at the noise, but continued to climb into the basket.

That's when a pair of rough hands pulled me out and shoved me to the ground.

The ladies were furious. Two of them held me back by the arms. Miss Helena was yelling at Charlie to come back. Sister Mary stood behind us all, leaning against the door frame, looking sympathetic to the whole situation, yet did nothing.

If I couldn't be free, I at least wanted Charlie to be. "Run, Charlie! _Run!"_ I wailed over and over. I knew it was futile, that he was too slow, too weak, with his leg and all. But still, I screamed, hoping he would get away, hoping he would get as far away from New York and the orphanage as he possibly could. I hoped he could run all the way back home to his family and maybe even Lydia and be happy and free.

"I can't! I can't leave you behind!" Charlie replied, struggling to his feet as tears streamed down his face. "I can't, Eddie!"

"You have to! Please! Run!" I shouted back, voice cracking with sobs. We had failed.

Somehow, _somehow_ , he managed to take off and run, well, limp, as fast as he could, disappearing into the night. Miss Helena and a few of the ladies chased down the stairs and into the street after them. Miss Faith, another one of the ladies, and Sister Mary brought me, well, dragged me, back into the building. Rather than bringing me back to the normal rooms, however, they brought me into a small dark room in the center of the building. All there was inside was a flat pillow and a threadbare blanket on the cold, concrete floor, and a rusted chamber pot in the corner.

I lived in that tiny room all by myself for two weeks. I wasn't allowed out, and they barely fed me anything. Sometimes, the ladies would come in, asking where Charlie was. I wouldn't even acknowledge them. They would beat me, but I was too apathetic to feel any pain.

I would lay awake at night, wondering where Charlie was, wondering if he was safe. Hoping he was okay. Hoping I could get out of there soon and find him.

Hoping he wouldn't risk getting caught by coming back for me.

After two weeks they let me leave and return to my normal life at the orphanage. After a brutal final beating, of course.

I lay awake in bed each night, staring out the window, looking at strangers on the street, checking to see if they had bum legs. The other kids didn't come near me, they were too scared the ladies would punish them if they did. So I lived a year in solitude, waiting for the day I would follow Charlie out of this jail.

Finally, the day arrived when I was cleaning the street level hall, late at night. The ladies gave me more work than the others, and always the worst jobs. A year had gone by and my escape attempt had not yet been forgiven. Some kid had thrown up all over the carpets that day, and I had been sent to clean it up. I wasn't allowed to go to bed until I did.

It was a brutally hot summer, and since Charlie's escape, we were forced to keep to windows locked at all times. But the ladies surely were asleep already, and the house was so stuffy, and the vomit-stained floor reaked. So, precariously, I cracked the window, feeling the relief of the crisp night air on my face.

I was about to go back to my work when I heard hushed voices whispering from the shadows.

"Ya sure this is the place, Crutch?" A pause. "Alright. Ya sure you wanna go back in, though? I mean youse was miserable there, what if ya get caught?"

A painfully familiar voice responded. "I gotta, Jack. My brotha might still be in there."

I rushed to the window and peered out. "Charlie?"

Charlie and another boy around our age stepped out of the shadows. Charlie was beaming. "Eddie? Dat you?"

"Yea, what're doin' back here? If the ladies catch ya-"

"I came here to get youse!"

The other boy looked up. "Light on upstairs. We gotta make this fast, Crutchie."

"Crutchie?"

"It's my new name! Pretty neat, huh?" Charlie said. "I've started hawking papes a little ways away from here. It ain't much but it's honest woick, and it keeps me outta here, hehe. This here is Jack Kelly, one of my brothas, another newsie."

Footsteps creaked upstairs.

"Crutchie, we gotta get outta here, someone's moving around upstairs." Jack said again.

Crutchie smiled at me. "So, ya coming with us, Eddie?"

Miss Helena called down, rage seeping into her voice. "Higgins!"

I thrust the window open wide. " Yeah, of course I'm coming wit' youse!"

 **A/N That's all for now folks! Once again, thank you so much for reading, and thanks for your patience if you've been waiting since the last update.**

 **I'll try to get at least another chapter out this week, if not then y'all should definitely read Everest's fics while you're waiting! She's actually working on this new Miraculous Ladybug Sprace AU one and it's really good so definitely keep your eyes out for that. All her fics are high quality (I should know, I'm basically the quality control ie editor for them lol) and I can't recommend you read them enough. I mean, society has shut down, its not like you have anything else to do.**

 **Wash your hands, stay home, and stay safe!**


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